[ He leans away from a hand, leans into another, seeking touch and the imprisonment only Death is allowed to create for him. He sees the faceless creature; he becomes one with it, impossible shapes blending in together as easily as the blood and the sludge does. No one should have to see something so depraved and beyond comprehension, small and frantic thrusts into the hand that could make anything out of him. Sullivan wouldn't even have to ask, wouldn't even have to try. All he'd have to do is want.
And so Zephir comes a second time, thick and abundant, pliant and lovingly helpless. He sinks to his knees, looking up at the one thing he'll ever worship, prying his cock from under his clothes to take it in his mouth. He's drooling everything he poured into Death's mouth moments before. ]
no subject
And so Zephir comes a second time, thick and abundant, pliant and lovingly helpless. He sinks to his knees, looking up at the one thing he'll ever worship, prying his cock from under his clothes to take it in his mouth. He's drooling everything he poured into Death's mouth moments before. ]